


Sibling Dynamics

by bexpls



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Alcohol, Braxiatel Collection (Doctor Who), Gen, Memory Alteration, set during the time when the Doctor was travelling with Samson and Gemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexpls/pseuds/bexpls
Summary: One day, Samson Griffin wakes up with no memories of his sister, Gemma. The Doctor has heard of a way to retrieve lost memories, but unfortunately that secret is stored in the Braxiatel Collection. While Gemma faces the trauma of having a brother who doesn't remember her, the Doctor has to reconcile with his own brother if he wants to help his friends.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Sibling Dynamics

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 2020 in the Eighth Doctor charity zine 'A Light in the Dark' under the author name Bex Chadwick (who is me).

Samson Griffin woke up and everything was normal.

Except, it wasn’t.

It was a weird feeling. Like when you dream that you’re late for school and then when you wake up, it takes you a few minutes to remember that you left school seven years ago. That uncomfortable, something’s-just-a-little-bit-not-right, pit-of-your-stomach feeling.

But he couldn’t put his finger on exactly _what_ wasn’t right. Something was out of place, or missing, but he didn’t know what. He cast a glance around his room. Everything was it as should be, as far as he could tell. Odd knick-knacks, collected from his travels, were scattered over the shelves. Strewn in the centre of the floor was a pair of golden six-inch platform shoes. He smiled. From last night, when they’d gone to a disco in the 1970s. He’d nearly broken his ankles in them.

The feeling wasn’t going away, but he decided to ignore it. He was probably right, it was just a scrap of memory left over from a particularly potent dream. Not that he could remember what the dream was. Maybe that he’d been in a zombie apocalypse or something. He used to get a lot of those as a kid, but to be fair that was his own fault for watching Resident Evil at Ebrahim’s when he was nine. God, that had been a serious mistake.

He showered and got dressed before he went to meet the Doctor, out of the silvery jumpsuit he’d fallen asleep in - jeez, how on earth had the Doctor let him go out looking like that? - and into more comfortable clothes. Then he went in search of the console room.

‘Search’ because it had an annoying habit of going missing. The Doctor scoffed when he told him that he thought the TARDIS hid the console room from it sometimes. “All right, so the TARDIS can reconfigure her architecture if she takes the fancy,” he’d said, “but she wouldn’t deliberately try and lead you away from the console room.”

Samson wasn’t so sure. Sometimes, he didn’t think the TARDIS liked him very much. Maybe it thought he was stealing away the Doctor’s attention or something.

He almost laughed at the thought. Him and the Doctor was a more unlikely couple than… his mum and Tom Selleck. Not that he hadn’t _entertained_ the notion on one or two occasions - of him and the Doctor, that was, not of his mum and Tom Selleck. But it wasn’t something he necessarily _desired_ , or thought he’d want to pursue. His own futile attempts at labelling his sexuality notwithstanding, the Doctor’s was even more vague and ambiguous. And he was a bit old for Samson, anyway, even though in looks they weren’t far off each other. And…

And why was he even giving this more than five seconds’ worth of thought? Crushing on the Doctor was a bit like crushing on your high school English teacher. Fun for a daydream, but if it actually happened, all hell would probably break loose.

Fortunately, he was distracted by finding the console room, which for once was actually where he’d left it. He went in, and the Doctor was standing there next to the central console, along with -

Along with some woman?

Her presence caught Samson by surprise. The weird feeling that was still in the pit of his stomach rose, filling his throat, then sank again when he saw the easy way that the Doctor was chatting with her. Someone visiting him, then. Samson wondered where they had landed. And _when_.

She was quite short, shorter than the Doctor, with wavy blonde hair that was dangerously close to escaping the hair tie it was done up with. She was wearing pyjamas - she must have been a very close friend of the Doctor’s to be visiting him in her pyjamas; even Samson, who had been best friends with the Doctor for months no, had gotten dressed before coming to see him. A loose cotton top and shorts and a fluffy blue dressing-gown. Bare-footed. Not wearing make-up or anything.

Samson supposed she was quite pretty, but that thought made the weird feeling grow, like he wasn’t meant to be thinking about her in that kind of way. So he stopped, and the feeling died away without him knowing why.

The woman noticed him before the Doctor did. He hadn’t said ‘hi’ or anything, just sort of stood awkwardly in the doorway for a bit while trying to figure out who this woman was. She laughed and tutted and nudged the Doctor with her elbow.

“Morning, sleepy,” she said. She had an accent that he struggled to place for a moment, before realising that it was almost exactly the same as his own. “Or should I say afternoon?”

The familiar way she spoke to him was somewhat unnerving. Had they met her last night at the disco, and he’d gotten so drunk he’d forgotten? No, surely not, he’d only had one drink last night. “For once,” he remembered the Doctor saying. So how come she seemed to know him when he didn’t remember her at all?

“Um, hi,” said Samson, not really knowing how to respond. “Morning, skipper. What time is it?”

“Twenty to twelve, TARDIS time,” said the Doctor, frowning just a little bit. “You were partying so hard last night I thought I’d better not wake you.”

“ _I_ wanted to,” said the strange woman, “but he wouldn’t let me.”

“I see,” said Samson. Well, he might as well get the awkwardness out of the way now. “Look, I’m really sorry, but who are you?”

The woman blinked, looking astonished for about half a second, then she burst out laughing. “Oh, good one, Samson. Real original. Where’d you get that, a _Star Trek_ episode?”

“Did we meet last night? I can’t seem to remember you.”

“All right, stop being daft,” said the woman, her laughter dying away.

Samson looked at the Doctor. He was properly frowning now, but at Samson, not at the strange woman who was acting like she was best mates with him for some reason. “I’m not being daft, I just can’t remember you. I’m sorry, maybe if you tell me who you are, it’ll jog my memory?”

“Samson, the joke’s over,” said the woman, her smile vanishing completely.

“There’s no joke,” said Samson. All of a sudden, he knew that something was very, very wrong. “I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Gemma,” said the woman, as if that was supposed to mean anything. “Are you sure you didn’t have much to drink last night? No one slipped you anything iffy?”

“I’m - I don’t _think_ so -“

“So what the hell’s wrong with him?” snapped the woman, glaring at the Doctor.

The Doctor came towards him and studied his face for a moment. “No, it doesn’t look like you’ve taken any drugs. Samson, are you _sure_ you’re not playing a trick on us?”

“Of course I’m not!”

The woman - Gemma - walked forwards as well. “Doctor, what can have done this to him?”

“I don’t know,” said the Doctor.

“Done what?” said Samson. “Who _are_ you?”

Gemma folded her arms and went from looking very annoyed to looking like she wanted to cry. “I’m your sodding _sister,_ Samson.”

* * *

The Doctor had taken him to the sickbay to run some tests on him. So far, the tests had consisted of the Doctor sitting on a spinny chair and staring into his eyes for quite a while, recording the time between his blinks. All while Gemma leaned in the doorway and watched them

“I’ve no idea,” said the Doctor at last. “Not the foggiest. Something’s clearly altered your memory, or erased parts of it, but why only the parts about Gemma, I’ve got no idea! Are you sure you can’t remember her at all? Not even like, say, you had a dream about her once?”

Samson stared at Gemma and tried hard to remember. She broke his eye contact almost immediately.

“No, I’m certain that I’ve never seen her before in my life,” said Samson.

“It could be a complete mental block,” said the Doctor. “Can you remember your childhood at all?”

“Of course I can,” said Samson. He remembered his mother, his amazing, mad mother. He remembered Folkestone, where he grew up, in all its idyllic, non-eventful glory. He remembered his father dying when he was eighteen. He remembered his mother always wanting another child, but none ever coming. “Yeah, I can remember everything. But I never had a sister.”

The Doctor snapped his fingers. “So it’s not that your memories of Gemma have been _blocked_ out, it’s more like they’ve been _edited_ out.”

“How’s that possible?” said Gemma. “Who could have done that? Or what could have done that?”

The Doctor span a few revolutions on his spinny chair. “I don’t know. But I can vaguely remember something like this happening quite a while ago - was that me? - or, wait, was it a Kroton?”

“Get to the sodding point, Doctor.”

“I read it in a book!” said the Doctor. “That’s it, I read a book where something similar to this happened. They found a cure in the book, I’m sure they did.”

“And?” said Gemma eagerly. “What did you do?”

The Doctor looked extremely apologetic. “I don’t remember.”

“Fantastic,” said Gemma. “You really pick your moments, you know that, Doctor? You can remember every last detail about the life cycle of a mutant reproducing crab, but you can never pull through when it’s actually _important_ -“

She broke off with a choked sob.

The Doctor rolled his spinny chair towards her and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Gemma. I’ll do whatever I can to get Samson back to normal.”

Samson looked on helplessly. He wanted to help Gemma, but he didn’t know what to do. When he looked at her, he had no memories of them climbing trees or building sandcastles together, or whatever it was siblings did together. Nothing.

“I know you will,” said Gemma after a moment. “But it’d be helpful if you could think of something.”

“Oh, I’ve thought of something,” said the Doctor. “Though I can’t say I like it very much.”

“Why?” said Samson suspiciously. He wouldn’t put it past the Doctor to say, “ooh, the Cybermen created an antidote to missing memories years back, let’s just sneak into their base and nick it”.

“It’s nothing dangerous,” said the Doctor quickly, obviously thinking the same thing as Samson was. “At least, not for you. For me. Because I remember what book I read this in.”

“One that we can find in any old library?” said Gemma hopefully.

“No,” said the Doctor. His eyes had lost their gleam. They _always_ had their gleam, even when they were being chased by homicidal guitar strings. Now he just looked lost and afraid. “One very specific library. Well, it’s more of a museum, actually. A collection of the rarest, most historically or culturally significant artefacts in existence. Very difficult to get to, access is by invitation only. Fortunately, I have an access-all-areas pass.”

“What’s this place called, then?” said Samson, sighing.

“It’s located on a planetoid,” said the Doctor. “Or an asteroid, no one can quite agree on which. KS-159. Its curator won it in a game of cards, allegedly. The one thing that’s certain it that it holds one of the most magnificent collections in this universe.” He took a deep breath. “It’s called the Braxiatel Collection.”

* * *

It has been said that the sound of a TARDIS materialising has brought great relief and joy. Those people had clearly never met any Time Lord other than the Doctor. To those who have frequent dealings with Time Lords, the sound brings boredom or annoyance.

To Irving Braxiatel, it brought sheer terror.

He was in the back room of the Medical History department with one of his assistant curators, Sam Lau, when the horrific wheezing sound filled the air. His first instinct was to panic.

Then he calmed down, reminded himself that the Time Lords were fully aware of the existence of the Braxiatel Collection, and that as long as none of his other incarnations were around, which they weren’t, he couldn’t possibly get into any trouble.

_Then_ he registered that only old, pre-type 50 TARDISes made a racket like that when materialising, and that the only old pre-type 50 TARDIS currently known to be in use was the Doctor’s.

He dropped the priceless book he was holding.

He was vaguely aware of Sam gasping and bending down to pick up the book, but he took no notice. In front of him, thin air was swirling and shivering and turning blue. A couple of seconds later and the Doctor’s TARDIS filled the doorway.

“What the hell is that?” said Sam.

“An unexpected visitor,” said Braxiatel.

“Who? How’d they get in without an invitation? What even _is_ that thing?”

“Believe me,” said Braxiatel, “this particular visitor has never been known to observe social conventions.”

The tiny wooden door swung open, and out came the Doctor.

Braxiatel wasn’t even going to pretend that he knew which incarnation this was. Seventh or eighth, maybe? Not one that he recognised off-hand. He shook his head. If he carried on at this rate, he’d be all out of regenerations within a couple of centuries. But who knew, maybe after his twelfth regeneration, he’d pull another few out from somewhere. It wasn’t like his little brother had ever been known to be limited by silly things like biological impossibilities.

This incarnation, whichever one it was, was looking younger than ever. Barely out of his thirties in human years. He wore his copper-brown hair long, hanging messy and unkempt around his shoulders. As for his clothes - this incarnation had an even more ridiculous fashion sense than the small one with the question-mark pullover and panama hat. Braxiatel vaguely recognised the clothes as from Earth, though he wasn’t an expert on Earth culture, and all he could say for certain was that they were from sometime between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries. Green velvet jacket, deep gold cravat, waistcoat embroidered with constellations from galaxies that Braxiatel only slightly recognised. He wondered where the Doctor had inherited his sense of style from. Certainly not from the Time Lords.

The Doctor saw him, and smiled apologetically. “Hello, Irving. Sorry to drop by unannounced.” He glanced around and frowned. “This is the Medical History department, isn’t it?”

Braxiatel couldn’t speak for a moment. The shock of seeing the Doctor after all these years, he supposed. Not that the Doctor ever exactly arranged meetings beforehand, but this was such a random, insignificant moment to choose, it had caught him off-guard somewhat. He tried to remember if there was a war on nearby. No, he didn’t think so. So why the impromptu visit? It was hardly going to be a social call, was it?

He was about to ask when Sam said, “Excuse me, sir, but the Collection is closed today.”

The Doctor frowned. He reached into his pocket and pulled a small, badly creased plastic rectangle, holding it up in Braxiatel and Sam’s direction. “Access all areas, I think you’ll find,” he said. He made to put it away when Sam went up to him.

“I can’t see that from over here,” said Sam, taking the pass from him. They studied it for a moment. “Hey, this was issued fifty years ago!” They squinted at him. “You’re not that old, are you?”

“A bit older, actually,” said the Doctor. He took the pass back and put it in his pocket. “How do you do? I’m the Doctor.” He held out his hand.

“Hello,” said Sam, shaking his hand with an air of suspicion. “Sam Lau.”

The Doctor’s smile vanished for a second. “Hello, Sam. Nice name.” He grinned, clapped his hands together and turned to look at Braxiatel.

Braxiatel realised he had not breathed for the past few minutes. He coughed and walked forwards. “Hello, Doctor. It’s nice -“ He paused. Was that the right way to greet the Doctor? “It’s extremely good to see you,” he decided on.

“Good to see you too,” said the Doctor, “but I’m afraid the family catch-up session will have to wait until later. I came here for a more important reason.” He turned back to the TARDIS. “Gemma, Samson, come out.”

From out of the TARDIS emerged a man and a woman, presumably humans, and very young ones at that. Younger than the Doctor looked, maybe mid-twenties. These two were very alike, both with the same shade of blonde hair and the same facial structure, and they both gave Braxiatel the same vague smile and wave as a greeting. Brother and sister? But they were standing almost awkwardly far apart.

“We have a small problem,” said the Doctor. “And we think you’ll be able to help.”

* * *

They all congregated in Braxiatel’s office - well, one of his offices, according to Braxiatel. Samson took one of the three chairs, next to the sister he didn’t know. And Braxiatel’s human assistant with the bright green hair, Sam Lau, took the final chair. The Doctor was pacing up and down the room, waiting for Braxiatel, who was tapping away at the computer in the corner.

Gemma’s obvious, and in Samson’s opinion, terrible flirting with Sam on the way there seemed to have worked. They were talking quite animatedly. Samson thought very hard to see if he could remember if Gemma was gay or straight or bi or something else, but he drew a complete blank. But either way, she was obviously attracted to Sam, and Sam, who told them that they were non-binary, seemed to be equally attracted to her.

He wondered how that would work, what with their TARDIS travel. Maybe they would just exchange phone numbers and meet up for a date on Mars or something.

“Found it,” said Braxiatel eventually. He’d been searching for the bookcase number of the book that the Doctor was looking for. “Case Rho, shelf four. Sam, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Sam broke off their conversation with Gemma, apologising, and slipped out of the room.

“Explain it to me again,” said Braxiatel, sitting in the chair that Sam had just vacated and lacing his fingers together. “Samson has… lost all memories of his sister?”

The Doctor snapped his fingers. “Not just lost. His memories have been edited so as to completely remove Gemma from them. No trace of her has been left anywhere.”

“And you think this happened last night?”

“Well, there’s nothing in the TARDIS that could have caused it,” said the Doctor. “But last night we were on Earth in the late twentieth century. They didn’t have memory-altering substances on Earth then.” He paused for a second. “Well, not this kind of memory-altering substance.”

“Then it’s an alien substance?” suggested Braxiatel. “It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has found its way to Earth.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened, and Samson could tell that he was remembering something particularly bad. “That’s true.” He turned to Samson. “Are you _sure_ you didn’t take any drugs last night, or leave your drink unattended, anything like that?”

Samson ran through the night’s events in his head. They’d arrived at the disco around nine. The Doctor went off somewhere, possibly with Gemma, so he was left alone. So he had decided to go to the bar and get himself some alcohol.

There was something hidden in the fuzzy part of his head, teetering on the edge of remembering and not-remembering. He tried to dredge it up, gently, so it wouldn’t slip away. It was something strange that he had seen… a person? Someone sat next to him at the bar. A man, he thought… a man with… purple irises?

That was it! He could remember asking the man if he was wearing contact lenses. The man had laughed and smiled knowingly. They hadn’t really talked much, he didn’t think. But he could remember something else… something that they’d -

“Oh, _crap_ ,” he said out loud.

“What?” said Gemma.

“Did I? No, I _can’t_ have -“

“Can’t have _what_?”

“I think I may have snogged an alien,” said Samson.

Gemma burst out laughing. “Oh, trust _you_.”

“You’re one to talk,” said the Doctor, which shut Gemma up. “Did you and this alien do anything else?”

“No!”

“What I mean is,” said the Doctor hastily, “did they buy you a drink or give you something to eat?”

“No, he didn’t,” said Samson.

“Oh, and it’s a he,” said Gemma.

“Gemma, shush,” said the Doctor. “What did he look like?”

Samson tried to remember. It had been hard to see the man properly, amid the colourful flashing lights of the disco. “He had dark skin, black hair, sort of in dreadlocks, and his irises were purple, and he was really tall and quite broad-shouldered, and he had something on his neck… sort of swirly black markings?”

“A Shren-lii,” said Braxiatel quietly. Samson had forgotten he was in the room.

“Could be, yes,” said the Doctor. “They have mind-reading abilities, don’t they?”

Braxiatel nodded. “And mind- _altering_ abilities. Sounds as if this new friend of Samson’s saw Gemma in his memories and got a tad jealous.” He looked almost amused.

“Hang on a minute,” said Gemma. “I’m his sister, not his girlfriend.” She shuddered.

“Makes sense,” said the Doctor. “Think about it: you’re an alien in a bar on Earth, you’re trying all these very exotic drinks, you’re a bit drunk –”

“Speaking from personal experience, are you?” said Braxiatel.

“Shush,” said the Doctor. “Anyway. You meet this…” He faltered, apparently struggling for a suitable adjective. Samson pointedly folded his arms. “… nice-looking man, you see a woman in his immediate memories, and she’s very pretty, so what do you do? You act on instinct and erase her from his memories.” He paused. “As dating strategies go, I don’t think that’s exactly in the top ten.”

“Oh hell,” said Samson. “So if this - Shren-lii? - erased my memories of Gemma, how am I going to get them back?”

The office door opened and Sam re-entered, holding a leather-bound book. “Found it,” they said. “It was on shelf three. Your records need updating, sir.”

Braxiatel gave a faint smile. “Noted.”

Sam handed the book to the Doctor and tried to give him a pair of disposable gloves, but he waved them away and started to leaf randomly through the pages. Both Sam and Braxiatel squeaked, and the Doctor ignored them. After a couple of seconds of frenzied page-turning, he settled on a page and started to read aloud:

“Extract from the expedition to Gray-lii,” he read, “original home of the Shren-lii. Expedition leader -“ He smiled. “Professor Bernice Summerfield. Good for her. Note: Shren-lii evacuated Gray-lii in the mid-twenty-third century due to solar flare activity, and settled on planet two-X-Y-delta-B, renamed Ura-lii…” He trailed off. “Lots of unimportant stuff… ah, here we go. On the fifth day, we found what appeared to be a chest of medical supplies. Professor Wren came into contact with some liquid from a broken vial, and immediately became unable to remember the expedition or why he was on Gray-lii. After an hour of talking to him to remind him of the expedition, we successfully restored his memory.” The Doctor closed the book. “There we have it.”

“There we have what?” said Samson.

“The answer. We just have to talk to you for a bit to jog your memory.”

“But in Professor Wren’s case,” said Braxiatel, “his memory loss was accidental. The liquid must have just erased his most recent memories. Whereas in Samson’s case, his memories were altered by a sentient being who was actively trying to remove _specific_ memories. Not the same thing.”

“Same principle, though,” countered the Doctor. “In both cases, memories were removed. We should be able to force Samson’s mind to remember Gemma, just as Benny and the others forced Professor Wren to remember the expedition.”

“Benny?” asked Samson.

Braxiatel smiled. “A mutual friend,” he said. “It’s worth a try. If it doesn’t work you can go back to the drawing board.”

“ _We_ ,” corrected the Doctor. “You’re part of this now. You’re helping us.”

Braxiatel rolled his eyes exaggeratedly but didn’t argue. Gemma and Sam eyed each other.

* * *

Braxiatel took them all to the quietest room in the Collection. It was similar to a Zero Room, and had in fact been built for the same purpose. Braxiatel wasn’t intending to go through a traumatic regeneration any time soon, but on the off-chance it happened, and he was here rather than on Gallifrey, he would much rather have the safety net of a Zero Room.

The Doctor smiled appreciatively when he entered, and commented that he hadn’t been in one of these in a while. Odd, considering the horror stories he’d heard about the Doctor’s regenerations. Some of them were actually told to students at the Academy as cautionary tales. He seemed like exactly the sort of Time Lord that the Zero Room had originally been designed for.

They sat Samson down in the centre of the room and told him to close his eyes. Then, they told Gemma to sit with him and talk to him.

“What about?” said Gemma uncertainly.

“About his life with you,” said the Doctor. “Focus on the memories shared by just the two of you. Your childhood would be good, since those memories are deepest in his mind, so will have been the least affected by the memory alteration. Does that make sense?” He thought for a moment then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Just talk to him, and ask him questions as you got to see if it’s working. You see what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Gemma.

“I’ll stay as well,” said Sam. Braxiatel looked at them. “In case they need anything,” they continued hastily.

“I’d better go,” said Braxiatel.

“Me too,” said the Doctor.

Gemma and Samson both stared at him. “But we need you,” said Samson. “Me and Gemma have been travelling with you for months now. You can help me remember Gemma too.”

The Doctor shook his head. “I won’t be able to make anywhere near as much of an impact as Gemma herself will. I’ll wait outside, with Braxiatel.”

Oh, fantastic, thought Braxiatel. He was about to protest, but he didn’t see much point. He could always just make an excuse and leave. A conversation alone with the Doctor was the last thing he wanted.

“Come and get me if you need me,” said the Doctor, patting Gemma gently on the shoulder. Gemma nodded and turned back to Samson.

“All right then, Sammy,” she murmured. Samson frowned slightly. “Let’s give this a try.”

* * *

Braxiatel had nearly escaped around the corner when he heard the Doctor call, “Hey, Irving!” He stopped and sighed.

“Look, Doctor, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on -“

“We should catch up,” said the Doctor brightly, evidently not taking the hint.

Braxiatel blinked. “Catch up with what?”

“With us. You know. Chat.”

“Oh,” said Braxiatel. Huh. This incarnation was quite outgoing, it seemed. The last few he’d met had been rather more reserved. When it came to Braxiatel, anyway.

Maybe it was him. Maybe he’d done something to annoy the Doctor, centuries ago, and it was only just now that he’d managed to forgive him. Or forget whatever it was he’d done. Had he even done anything? Maybe he just had that sort of personality. He couldn’t even count the number of Time Lords who hated him, so it wasn’t unreasonable that the Doctor would hate him too. But why?

Oh, questions to ask himself late at night when he was in bed and had nothing to occupy himself with but his thoughts.

The Doctor leant against the wall, folded his arms, and fixed Braxiatel with an odd stare. “Been a while.”

Alternatively, thought Braxiatel, maybe the Doctor was still annoyed about whatever it was he may or may not have done, and he was taking the opportunity to be passive-aggressive.

“Er, yes,” he said. “I suppose it has.”

“When did we last see each other?” said the Doctor. “I can’t seem to recall the exact scenario.”

Now he seemed genuinely curious. Why was this man, with his youthful face and ridiculous clothes, suddenly so hard to read?

“There was that business with Menaxus,” said Braxiatel after a moment. “I think we just missed each other on that particular occasion.”

The Doctor dropped his gaze. “Yes, well. My fault, really. Busy day.”

“As was I,” said Braxiatel. “And the time before that?”

The Doctor smiled. “I honestly can’t remember. A lot’s happened over the past few decades.”

“For me, too,” said Braxiatel. “Though more for you, I should have thought.”

“Probably. Although I hear you’ve been getting up to a lot. Something about being President of Gallifrey?”

Braxiatel frowned. “What did -“

“Never mind,” said the Doctor hastily. “Might be getting my timelines mixed up. But yes, you’re probably right. I’ve saved a couple of planets, I suppose. Saved the whole of Gallifrey and most of the universe in the bargain.” He thought for a second. “On several occasions. But enough about me.”

Something in his expression worried Braxiatel. He tried to figure out why.

Then he realised. It was the same expression that the Doctor used to wear when he was still a student, and he was about to get himself into mischief. Usually something to do with that Koschei. Braxiatel wondered whatever had happened to the particular student.

“What, ahem, what did you want to talk about, then?” said Braxiatel.

The Doctor shrugged. “I don’t exactly have a topic in mind. I just thought it was sort of poetic.”

“Thought what was poetic?”

“Well,” said the Doctor, looking vaguely uncomfortable all of a sudden. “In order for Samson and Gemma to reunite, we had to reunite too.”

Oh. So he hadn’t been planning anything, he hadn’t been being passive-aggressive. He’d just wanted to visit his brother.

“I see,” said Braxiatel, feeling as out of his depth as the Doctor looked. “I suppose we really don’t see each other as often as we should.”

“I feel like ‘once every century’ constitutes as ‘not as often as we should’,” said the Doctor, smiling.

“Quite,” said Braxiatel, unable to stop himself from smiling as well.

He’d missed the Doctor, despite everything. It would be good to catch up. He supposed he could take the time out of his schedule. At least until Gemma and Samson’s situation was resolved.

* * *

Gemma glanced at Sam. After the Doctor and Braxiatel had left, Sam had announced that they were going to wait in the corner of the strange, off-white room for a few minutes. Less than thirty seconds later, they had dozed off.

Gemma felt like she wanted to fall asleep herself. The room was having a strange effect on her. Making her feel relaxed and drowsy. She tried to shake it off and concentrate on Samson.

She didn’t like the way that her brother was looking at her. It was the sort of polite half-smile that you gave people you were being nice to without necessarily knowing why you had to be nice, outside of common courtesy. It was unnerving.

“Right,” she said. “Okay, where to start?”

Samson shrugged.

“Okay then,” said Gemma. “Erm… ooh, I have one. Do you remember when I was seven and you were nine, and we tried to build our own hoverboard in the back garden? Well, I say build. We tried to combine Dad’s really old one with a broken one we found in the park.” She looked expectantly at him.

Samson shook his head slowly.

“Okay then,” said Gemma again. This was going to take a while, she could tell. “What about meeting the Doctor?”

“He came to the library looking for a book,” said Samson. “I thought he looked interesting, so I -“ He paused and frowned. “Hang on. That can’t be right. I wouldn’t have left work in the middle of the day just to follow a random stranger. But why do I remember it that way?”

“I suppose your brain didn’t do a very good job of filling in the gaps that the memory-editing alien left,” said Gemma, slightly more unkindly than she had intended.

“Carry on,” said Samson. “I’m trying my best.”

“I know you are,” said Gemma. “Okay, I have a good one. Do you remember when I came out to you?”

“Came out as what?”

“As pansexual,” said Gemma. “I told you when I was fifteen. You laughed at me at first, said it wasn’t a real thing. I got really upset because I’d been hiding it for months and I thought you would understand. But you came back to me the next day and said that you accepted me.”

“I bet Mum didn’t make as much of a fuss,” said Samson.

Gemma blinked a couple of times, then realised she was blinking away tears. “No, she didn’t. Do you remember that?”

Samson grimaced and shook his head.

“Oh,” said Gemma, and couldn’t stop herself from starting to cry.

“Ugh, no,” said Samson, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. “Please don’t.”

Gemma laughed through her tears. “You’re always like that whenever I cry. You’re so awkward about it, it usually makes me stop.”

“Oh, well, I’ll carry on then,” said Samson, smiling. He put his hand on hers.

“You always make me feel better, that’s the thing,” said Gemma. “Hell, I don’t know how I would have _survived_ without you. And I’m not just talking about the time you stopped me from falling out of that crashing hot air balloon. My whole life, you’ve helped me so much. You’re pretty much the only reason I got through secondary school. Because I thought to myself, if Samson survived it, then you can too.

“And Samson, you’re my best friend. Not even the Doctor compares, not really. He never helped me with my maths homework on Sunday nights. He never climbed Snowdon with me and helped me to carry on going even when I thought my legs were going to fall off. And you’re so good at making me do things. I know it sounds like all that secondary school comfort-zone rubbish, but it’s true. I know most people see it as _me_ pushing _you_ to do things, but it’s not. Do you think I would’ve done half the things I have if you didn’t do them with me? Do you think I would’ve followed the Doctor into his strange blue box if you hadn’t come with me? Not a chance. If it wasn’t for you, Samson, I wouldn’t even be here.”

There was silence. Gemma looked up.

Samson hadn’t moved, he was still holding her hand, but he was frowning, shaking his head. He looked up at her. “Gemma?”

“Yeah?”

“No, but… Gemma? I think I remember you.”

Gemma felt her heart lift a good few centimetres. “You remember me?”

“Oh my God, I do,” said Samson. He winced. “Oh, that feels weird. How could I have forgotten you?”

Gemma wiped her eyes. “God knows. I’m not an easy person to forget, you know. Come on. I think we should tell the Doctor the good news.”

* * *

They all gathered by the TARDIS, making their final goodbyes.

Samson was watching Gemma and Sam. Gemma was leaning against the wall, doing that flirty thing she was really good at where she sticks her tongue out slightly as she talks. He smiled at the fact that he could remember that. As he watched, Gemma gave Sam a slip of paper. Probably had her phone number on it.

The Doctor and Braxiatel were by the TARDIS. They were getting along very well all of a sudden. One of them would say something innocuous, and the other would laugh like it was the funniest joke in the world. Samson couldn’t understand it. They were as in tune as he and Gemma were.

Wait. Braxiatel couldn’t be the Doctor’s…?

No, he couldn’t be. The Doctor would’ve said something. Stupid thought.

Finally, the Doctor said they had better be heading off. He looked quite crestfallen to be saying goodbye to Braxiatel.

Not quite as sad as Gemma and Sam looked. For a second, it looked like Gemma was going to go in for a kiss, but she didn’t. She quickly followed Samson into the TARDIS.

“You wait in there,” called the Doctor. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Gemma nodded and closed the door behind her.

* * *

“You should drop by sometime,” said Braxiatel.

The Doctor smiled and leaned against the TARDIS. “I think I will. And I know I always say that, but you know what? This time, I really think I mean it.”


End file.
